The Formula of My Breakdown
written by: Kika Man
@kikawinling
After Lynne Thompson
Let y equal the plants I brought to death.
Let x equal the spilling water in my bottle closed shut.
Let y minus x equal the fries I ordered for dinner
and let x plus y equal the fire that is spreading from my stomach.
In this formula, we lack acid. Let it be n.
A toilet’s friend, a trashbin’s lover.
It fulfils cups of tea that have been standing in my garden
for too long.
Let n subtract from x + y and the result is
a format of empty shelves, dusty glasses
and desperate darlings dressing up as poems I have not yet
drowned.
(Science is a social construct based upon
false exponents and square roots of societies
that deem themselves higher than others
and I am too tired to care.)
Let this lesson be heard, but my voice will stay in bed.
The variables can be the blankets torn off,
but I will nail them shut.
My bed does not breathe anymore, let the air be z.
N divided by z equals the pool of vomit I am dancing in,
I make snow angels.
In the meantime, the unbroken shards stare at me
from in the back of the shelf,
remaining silent but accusatory.
They know I ran away from mathematics
when trying to build my house.
Let z divided by the square root of x be the sewers that spew out z + n divided by x-y.
The formula of the beginning of the breaking down of a spirit let loose.
- The Formula of My Breakdown - October 6, 2021
